Chapter 7 #2
I glance around the room, my shoulders relaxing slightly when I notice that everything appears exactly as I left it.
At least, that’s what my eyes tell me. The curtains are drawn, all the windows are shut.
Everything is the way I left it this morning.
The vase of flowers still sits in the center of the dining table, every stem arranged the same way, positioned exactly where I left it.
Any stomping around would have caused them to move a little.
A stupid little security measure born from paranoia, but one that had given me some control.
Yet, it doesn’t do a damn thing to erase the unease settling in the pit of my stomach.
If anything, it only makes it worse because something feels different. And I hate that I can’t explain why.
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my skin prickling as every instinct inside me screams to turn around and leave.
To find a new place and tell literally no one.
A loud thud against the window echoes throughout the apartment.
I drop my bags at the front door, racing to the kitchen to grab the biggest kitchen knife I can find, because fuck this and fuck them.
I’m not letting these assholes catch me off guard a second time.
Without a sound, I begin slowly walking over to the window where the sound came from, the knife raised before me. I don’t waste time, knowing the intruder won’t either as I rip back the curtain, blade at the ready, only to squeal again as a horrified window cleaner stares back at me.
I drop the knife, jolting away from it as I begin to apologize to the man who looks seconds away from calling the police. Or a mental hospital. Potentially both.
I back away after doing as much damage control as I can. My heart continues to beat out of my chest rapidly. Embarrassment burns hot beneath my skin, but the fear refuses to loosen its grip.
I fall to the ground, leaning back against the side of the sofa as I fight to catch my breath.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I gasp, clutching my chest.
“They’re in my head. They got to me. Fuck!” I shout, slamming my hand against the cold tiled floor. I bring my knees up, my forehead crashing down on the bone as a wave of exhaustion washes over me.
How have I sunk this low? It’s been over a week.
A week of texts, photos, and constantly looking over my shoulder.
A week of checking the locks more than twice.
Of jumping every time my phone vibrates.
Of wondering if every strange sound means someone is watching me.
And worst of all? Nothing has happened in days.
A few texts. That’s all. Yet I’ve somehow managed to turn myself into a paranoid mess, seeing danger where there isn’t any.
Maybe it’s grief. At some point, everything will catch up to me and I'm going to have to deal with it. Because right now, I don't have the time. And that’s no way to live. I know myself. Running from emotions has only ever been a downfall of mine.
I bury them.
Box them up.
Pretend they don’t exist until they come crashing down around me at the worst possible moment.
But with everything going on with the team, it's hard to find the time to truly process that my dad is gone. That he’s never going to call and check in on me again.
That I can’t just pick up the phone and hear him tell me I’m overthinking things, before telling me to get my ass down to the police station and report the bastards.
You know what, fuck it.
That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Whether anything comes of it or not is a whole other issue.
But I’m not doing this. Worrying about this shit is taking up way too much of my time, and maybe filing a report will help me sleep at night.
The thought settles something inside me.
Not much, though it’s enough to stop my brain from spinning in circles long enough to focus on something else.
By the time I polish off far more takeout than I should and toss the empty containers into the trash, the panic from earlier is dulled into something manageable.
Days like this are the only times I really notice how empty the apartment is.
Not because I need someone to take care of me.
I’ve been taking care of myself for years.
But sometimes I wonder what it would be like to come home to something other than silence.
Not because I haven’t wanted it. I just never seem to have the time. Working in law got me used to long hours and late nights. One day turned into one year. One year turned into ten. And somewhere along the way, finding a pack became something future Lennon would worry about.
Steam billows in a mist around me as the hot shower washes away the day.
I stand beneath the spray far longer than usual, letting the heat seep into muscles I hadn’t realized were so tight.
By the time I finally shut the water off, my heartbeat had finally settled from my earlier panic.
Wrapping a soft towel around my body, I pad toward my nest, already looking forward to climbing into bed.
I flick on the light and come to a stop.
My nose wrinkles as the scent of copper fills the space around me.
Confusion has me glancing around the room, trying to find the source of the problem before my eyes fall to my bed.
My breath catches in my throat as a lone Cardinal lies in the center of my nest. Blood covers its once vibrant feathers, staining the blankets beneath it a deep, ugly crimson.
Its wings have been spread wide, posed with a level of care that makes bile rise in the back of my throat.
Someone took their time with this. Someone touched my nest. Someone stood in my room.
Its feathers frame jagged words carved into the white coverlet beneath it, the letters still wet enough to glisten in the glow of the bedside lamp.
‘No nest can protect you from us.’
My back smacks against the door frame, pain rippling up my spine.
Pain that I can’t focus on right now as the Cardinal burns itself into my memory.
The scent of death clinging to me even as I back away into the hall and toward the lounge where I had left my phone.
This has to stop. All of this? It has to fucking end.
Grabbing the device with shaking hands, I unlock the screen, my thumb hovering uselessly above the keypad. The police. Veronica. Hell, I don’t know who to call.
The police.
Before I can dial 911, my phone vibrates in my hand.
Unknown: I hope you liked my present, Little Bird.
A strangled sound escapes me as I whip around, my eyes darting frantically through the apartment.
They know I’m home.
They’ve been watching me.
Again.
My thumb trembles over the screen, ready to make the call, when another notification appears. A video. Reluctantly, I open it, my heart skipping a beat as the screen shakes and rattles before steadying in whoever’s grip.
Then I realize what I’m looking at.
My father’s gravestone fills the screen.
Fresh flowers sit in the vase I left there only days ago.
The photograph I chose smiles back at me.
Chest aches, this time for a different reason than fear.
It aches because they have access to my dad’s final resting place and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.
The sound of a zipper cuts through the silence, followed by the sound of running water.
For a second, my brain refuses to process what I’m seeing.
Refuses to understand. Because surely nobody could be that cruel.
Surely nobody could hate me that much. Then reality crashes over me like a fucking tidal wave with the realization clear as day.
They’re pissing on my father’s grave.
The sick fuck that stood in my apartment, my nest.
The cunt who touched my things.
He’s standing over the only parent I’ve ever known, who loved me unconditionally, and pissing like some sort of unkempt, untrained rabid fucking dog.
My head spins, my chest growing tighter with each second that passes as water blurs the screen from view.
My father spent his whole life protecting me.
Believing in me. Loving me. He handed me the Cardinals because he trusted me.
He believed I was strong enough to carry his legacy.
And this fucking coward thinks he gets to desecrate his resting place?
Humiliate him? Me? My breathing slowly steadies as my tears fade.
I am done letting this faceless asshole get to me.
Done letting him hide behind anonymity. But he’s made one fatal mistake.
He mocked my father in one of the worst ways he could have done, and nobody touches the people I love and walks away unscathed.
Slowly, I lower my phone. I’m still calling the police.
But I’m done sitting back. I’ll be there for years if I rely on them to save me from this.
No. I’m going to do one better. I’m going to find them.
Whoever this is. And I swear to fucking God, I will burn their entire fucking world to the ground when I do.